


The Luckiest Man on the Planet

by dessert_first



Category: due South
Genre: Humor, Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dessert_first/pseuds/dessert_first
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is up with Fraser, and Ray <i>is</i> a professional detective, you know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Luckiest Man on the Planet

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many, *many* thanks to Slidellra, Nos4a2no9 and Kill_Claudio for absolutely brilliant beta work. Seriously, these people rock. Remaining mistakes or other issues are entirely my own.
> 
> And Hurry_Sundown? You deserve a medal.

Fraser’s walking kinda funny. Not so much that anyone would notice, at least, anyone besides me, and that’s just because we’re partners, you know? I get to spend all _kinds_ of time watching Fraser walking, from all kinds of angles, day in, day out, and sometimes nights, if we’re working late or hanging out after our shifts are over. And the way Fraser is walking right now?

That is not a normal Fraser walk.

And that right there, that thing right there that he just did? Sitting down kinda gingerly, eyes flicking down and then up with a little smile before giving me his full attention?

That is not a normal Fraser sit.

It’s been going on all morning, and believe me, it's driving me nuts. He’s just the tiniest bit flushed now, and his tongue keeps flicking out to touch his lower lip. If I didn’t know better, I’d say… well, I’d say he just got _laid_ or something. There’s a good one! Benton Fraser, RCMP, getting laid. Good thing I know better.

Don’t I?

I mean, it’s not like he couldn’t get laid if he wanted to. Looking the way he looks, and with that polite Canadian thing going, and with the uniform and all, he could probably get laid by anyone on the _planet_.

Thing is, he don’t ever seem to be hot for anyone. Or hardly ever, enough as makes no difference.

So that absolutely cannot be the reason he’s sorta shifting just the tiniest bit on his side of the booth. I know he wasn’t expecting me to show up at the Consulate on a Saturday morning and take him out to breakfast—it was just a whim, nothing we’d been planning or anything. But he’s usually pretty glad to come along with me even if it is spur-of-the-moment.

Now, though, he isn’t even _looking_ at his food, and he hasn’t said a word about my sneaking Dief pieces of toast under the table, and he’s so distracted, I could be talking about anything. I could be discussing requesting a transfer to Mars, and he would not have a clue.

In fact, why not test that theory?

“So I told her, don’t worry about the oxygen tank. I didn’t get to be a certified scuba diver without learning to carry around my own rig, you know. The sharks won’t bother me, I’m used to them from my time in Baja.” I take a sip of coffee and shrug. “And that’s pretty much how I got to check out the coral reefs in Australia.”

“That’s nice, Ray,” Fraser says absently, eyes unfocused, and he shifts a little bit again, to the right this time.

I sigh. “C’mon, Fraser!”

He looks up at me, startled.

“Something is up with you. If you didn’t want to go out to breakfast with me, why didn’t you just say so?”

“Oh, no, Ray,” Fraser says earnestly. “I was delighted that you asked me to breakfast. And Diefenbaker was also glad of the outing. We’d planned to go to the park later on, but this is--”

“So what’s the deal?”

Fraser opens his mouth, and I hold up my hand.

“Do not lie to me, Fraser. Do not do that thing where you avoid the question and bring up a caribou story. I am not asking about caribou. I am asking about _you_.”

Fraser blushes then, almost fire-engine red, so much he’d match the serge if he was wearing it. “Well, you see, Ray,” he coughs. “I was sorting through some old things earlier this morning, and I—that is to say, I wanted to make sure they were still—not many of my things survived the fire, you understand, and I wanted to—”

This is gonna take forever. You’re a detective, Kowalski. Detect already, and give the poor guy a hand before he has a nervous breakdown right here over his bowl of oatmeal. “This morning?”

He shuts his mouth and nods gratefully, face flaming.

“Going through old things. Books?”

He shakes his head.

“Camping gear?”

Another shake, and a minute shift of his body to the left this time, just the tiniest slither of his ass on the padded booth...

“Clothes?”

He just sits there, eyes wide, looking like a deer in headlights.

Oh, yeah. Now I’ve got his number. Mister Mountie is wearing something naughty underneath those Sears catalogue jeans and plaid flannel. Who’d have thought? I wonder what it might be, and feel myself start to harden in my own jeans. Cock ring? Butt plug? Nipple clamps? I duck my head and sneak another look at him from under my lashes. Nah, not nipple clamps. The way he’s been slithering around, I’d put money on it being something involving that perfect Mountie ass of his.

Wait, clothes. Clothes were the key word here. Think clothes. Leather briefs. Silk longjohns. Silk boxers. Rubber hotpants.

Oh, this is too good.

“Clothes, huh?”

Fraser doesn’t say a word, just sits there, frozen like he’s on guard duty.

“Fraser, my very good friend,” I say, slouching back in my booth.“There are some hidden depths to you. So, uh, is this some Canadian thing?”

“I don’t believe so, Ray.” He tugs his ear.

“Don’t believe so, huh? So it crosses international borders? You safe to wander the streets of Chicago like that?”

“Apparently so, Ray,” he snaps.

I grin. “I dunno, Fraser. I drove you here, didn’t I? Who knows what could happen if I unleash you on an unsuspecting public?”

“I assure you the citizens of Chicago are quite safe,” he says firmly.

“See, I _want_ to believe you Fraser, I really do. But I’m a cop, you know, suspicion runs deep where I come from. It’s practically a way of life for me.”

“Frankly Ray, I fail to see where you have any other recourse than to take my word for it.”

“Oh, I can think of some pretty definitive recourse, buddy.” I raise my eyebrows suggestively.

Fraser looks scandalized. “Ray, surely you’re not suggesting—are you going on to me, Ray?”

“ _Coming_ on to you, Fraser. _Coming_ —”

He’s looking up at me from under his lashes, and of course he knew that already. His eyes flick down, then up again, and his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip.

“You know, Fraser, I, uh… whatever you’ve got going on under there, that’s okay by me. Whatever floats your boat, buddy.”

He looks up at me, startled, and his expression opens up into something that almost looks like hope. “And if it should be completely mundane and uninteresting, Ray?”

“Fraser,” I say. “ _Nothing_ about you could ever be mundane or uninteresting. Not even if you starched your boxers.”

Dief snorts rudely, but Fraser just looks up at me and smiles. “Oh, I don’t know, Ray. I hardly think it would be fair for you to come to that conclusion without further examining the evidence.”

I blink, shake my head, and squint at him. “Are you going on to me, Fraser?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “Pay the bill, Ray.”

Feels like all the blood in my body suddenly rushes to my cock, but I ain’t about to wait for him to change his mind. I signal the waitress, pay the bill and hustle us out of there, slipping Dief the last of my bacon. I drive us to my apartment like there’s a fire, more than a little tempted to put the cherry on the roof and break all the speed limits, but I don’t want to get in an argument about my driving habits now of all times.

As soon as the door is locked, I’m shrugging out of my jacket, tugging off my shirt and toeing off my shoes, making a beeline for the bedroom. Dief heads off to curl up on the armchair in the living room and welcome to it. Fraser follows me, but it’s not until I hit the bedroom and start in on my jeans that I realize he’s just standing there, staring at me.

“Ray,” he says, his eyes dark. “You look—”

I grin. It’s nice to be appreciated. I shove down my jeans and underwear, step out of them and kick them across the room with a flourish.

Fraser winces a little, no doubt thinking sad, Canadian thoughts about laundry.

“C’mere,” I say, and he does.

He’s smiling as he walks towards me, smiling wide enough to show that crooked tooth that drives me crazy. He stops in front of me, leaving just a couple inches of space between my naked body and his clothed one.

He gazes at me with eyes so dark I can barely see the thin ring of blue around each pupil. “Ray,” he says urgently. “ _Ray_.”

“S’okay, Fraser,” I pull him close, pressing my bare skin up against all that denim and flannel, winding my arms around him. He feels so damn solid and manly and good. I nuzzle his neck, breathing deep. He smells so good; woodsy, musky, clean and warm and a little soapy. I’m licking my way up from collarbone to neck when he pulls away, cradles my face in his big, calloused hands and kisses me. Christ, Fraser can kiss. We kiss and kiss until I’m short of air and have to pull away, gasping. We look at each other for one long moment, glance down at ourselves, and start ripping at Fraser’s clothing.

Flannel and cotton go flying and we’re kissing again, and you’re not thinking about laundry now, are you, Mountie? He bends to yank at the laces of his hiking boots one-handed, keeping a firm grip on the back of my neck with the other hand as he struggles to keep from breaking our kiss. He switches hands and goes to work on the other hiking boot, yanks off his socks and finally stands before me barefoot, bare-chested, hair rumpled and lips swollen from kisses. His hand goes to his fly.

“Do it,” I whisper, and he does.

One, two, three buttons, and he’s smiling, wide and wicked, and suddenly I don’t know who this guy is at all, this hardy mountain man who flicks open the last button of his jeans and slithers out of them revealing—oh, sweet Jesus.

I reach out a hand, reverently, and brush my fingers across the delicate lace. Scarlet, crimson, fire-engine red, cherry red, serge red. Fraser is wearing red panties trimmed in black lace, and I am the luckiest man on the planet.

I trail my fingers along the smooth fabric, trace the heavy outline of his dick through the material, and Fraser shudders. The little thing barely contains him, and it’s got to be one of the hottest sights I’ve ever seen in my life. I palm his dick through the satin and he makes a soft, needy noise. It feels so smooth under my hand. I rub him, gently at first, then more urgently as he keeps making those little sounds and feeling so damn sweet, and he clasps his arms around my neck and mouths at my jaw, my ear, the hollow of my throat.

I dance him over to the bed and he sprawls on it, long, strong arms and legs akimbo, his skin looking pale and rich and creamy like some kind of French dessert, topped off with the cherry of those damn red panties that are making me hot, hotter, fucking inferno.

The sheets feel cool against my skin as I crawl onto the bed. I straddle his body, stay up on my hands and knees so I don’t risk touching him. Fraser’s looking up at me eagerly, lips parted and cheeks still flushed, thrumming like he can hardly hold still.

Leaning down, I lick a long stripe up his neck, bite the corner of his jaw, then smile at him and kiss his mouth. He’s so fucking _hungry_ for it. He strains his head up to meet my lips, stabs into me with his tongue, kissing me with the kind of single-minded intensity he usually gives to high-speed pursuits. I’m getting dizzy from lack of air when he suddenly wraps strong arms around me and _yanks_ me down onto his body. He thrusts up urgently, rubbing up against me through the panties, and there’s a whole world of smooth, soft fabric and scratchy lace getting up close and personal with my dick. A sharp bite to his lower lip to distract him and I pull away, scrambling down his body 'til I’m eye to dainty little bow with his underpants.

There is a wet spot where his cock is leaking precome, and I taste it through the fabric, making him gasp. I mouth at him, soaking the fabric, learning the hard, eager shape of him under the material, and he’s _shaking_ , he’s trying so hard not to move, not to buck up into my mouth. God, he smells so good, musky and male. I slip my tongue under the edge of the leghole, licking the crease where thigh meets groin, tasting salt and sweat and Fraser, and bite the soft skin there. Soft, precise bites all along the edge, down to lick his balls and up, up along the smooth line of his dick, and he’s coming apart at the seams, filling the air with his noises; broken, desperate keening and the sound of my name, over and over.

I pull back and tug at his satin-covered hip. “Turn over,” I say, and he blinks at me for a moment, confused, then turns so fast he almost knocks me off the bed.

Oh, yeah. That perfect ass I’ve been trying not to ogle for so long is there, right there, and I’ve got permission to touch it, hell, he _wants_ me to touch it, he’s letting me see what makes him crazy and that thought alone is enough to make _me_ crazy, that he’d let me see this side of him, this side that no one else gets to see.

He’s humping into the mattress so I grip those satiny hips and pull him up. He follows instantly, getting his knees under him, face still pressed into the pillow, moaning “Ray,” like it’s the magic word for something.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, running my hands over that perfect ass. “Gonna take care of you.” I give in to temptation and bite the firm red curve, nuzzle it a little and lick down into the crease.

He pushes up into my hands, and I give in and grab him, push him, shove him, clamber up to rub my dick against him, against the soft, smooth fabric covering his ass. “God, _Ray!_

Grinning, I slip a hand around under him to cup his dick. It’s so hard the head of it is sticking out from the panties, smearing slick fluid over his belly. I jack him and he bucks into my hand and back against my dick, soft red satin over softer skin, the bite of lace scratching me a counterpoint, and I thrust against his perfect, perfect ass and keep on jacking him until he comes with a shout and collapses onto the bed. Two more good, hard thrusts up against him and I’m coming too, so hard I’m seeing in fucking glittervision, and spurt after spurt of my come is soaking his pantied ass.

I drop down on the bed beside him, panting, and turn my head to look at him. He’s just lying there with a dreamy smile on his face, and he looks at me like he’s won the lottery or something. And I just know the smile stretching my face looks exactly the same.

He sighs and squirms out of the panties, gets up and wanders naked to the bathroom. Comes back with a washcloth and we clean each other up, then settle down under the covers, fingers entwined. He leans over and gives me a kiss that feels like a promise, and I return it with interest.

“It’s funny,” I say, lying there playing with his hair.

“How so, Ray?” Fraser’s voice is sleepy and content, his head pillowed comfortably on my chest.

“I dunno. I guess, if I’d pictured you wearing panties, I’d have figured you for a nice, tasteful beige or ivory.”

“Oh, ivory wouldn’t go with my coloring at _all_ , Ray,” Fraser says.

“Maybe some plain cotton, white or black,” I say, getting into it. “Some no-nonsense navy blue. Because these, my friend,” I hold up the wet red scrap of fabric that I kinda think I’ll be keeping for posterity. “These are some really slutty panties.”

Fraser lifts his head up to look at me, his expression a cross between insulted and hurt, and I wink at him. “I see," he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps you’d prefer a nice, subtle pink, Ray?”

“Only one way to find out, Benton-buddy. Only one way to find out.” I stretch out on the bed, satisfied, as he presses his face into my shoulder and laughs.

 

The End.


End file.
